Wrapt in Crystal

by Sharon Shinn

  A split second of chaos, flying boards and shouting, then everything resolved into cold clarity. Twisting in mid-leap as he broke through the door, Drake had landed on his feet, shoulder bruised but gun-hand extended. Dapple had a three-second advantage, and the shouts had been from him. In that time, the killer had snatched the priestess from the floor, thrust her before him, and wrapped a hand around her neck. Drake instantly assessed the situation as presented to him: Laura’s face was a mass of bruises, her white robe was covered with blood, her hands were bound behind her back—and Dapple had a wire snaked around her throat.

  “Step closer, bastard, and she dies,” the convict hissed.

  Drake could not look at Laura. He kept his eyes on Dapple’s face. The pale blond hair stuck straight up over the murderous countenance. The blue tattoo seemed to have been painted on with a clumsy, heavy hand. The small mouth was contorted into a vicious snarl, and the small hand tightened on the braided ends of the garrote. She could be dead in seconds.

  “Moonchild,” Dapple breathed. “Fucking figures.”

  “Let her go,” Drake said. “I’ll kill you if she dies.”

  “I’ll kill you both,” Dapple said. “Drop the damn gun.”

  “I’m faster than a wire,” Drake said. “You kill her and you’re dead.”

  “You don’t drop your fucking gun,” the blond said, “she’s dead anyway.”

  Dapple twitched and Drake felt his whole body wince in response. He loosened his fingers on the laser. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I’m putting it down. Watch me, I’m putting it down . . .”

  He turned his hand up so that the Hawken rested harmlessly in his cupped palm, and slowly bent his knees so he could lay the weapon on the floor. The beam magnification was still dialed to razor-fine and Drake had thumbed its intensity up to maximum as he smashed through the door. His eyes were glued to Dapple’s and Dapple kept his eyes on Drake’s face. Imperceptibly, keeping his hand turned in its unnatural position, Drake squeezed his fingers along the barrel and the trigger.

  Dapple screamed in agony as the beam sliced off his arm at the elbow, the severed fingers still spasming on the wire. Laura fell forward, clutching her throat, as Dapple clawed for his arm with his remaining hand. Drake snapped his weapon back into place, aimed once and shot again. Straight through the heart like an arrow from god. Glass sprayed from Dapple’s chest as the beam went through the crystal portrait hung around his neck. The outlaw caromed to the floor, ungainly as a bag of rocks. Drake ran for Laura, on her knees and covered in blood.

  The wire had bitten into her neck as the weight of the dismembered arm choked her, but it had loosened when the hand relaxed and fell free. She was coughing and she was bleeding, but she was breathing and the jugular had not been cut. Drake snipped through the wire with the laser beam and flung the garrote across the floor. There was nothing in the room that looked remotely clean, so he tore his shirt off, ripped it in thirds, and wrapped one of the strips around her neck to stanch the bleeding. All this time, he was afraid to look at her face, a mass of cuts and bruises, but he felt for her heartbeat, and he checked quickly for other wounds. Sweet goddess of light, she was relatively whole. She was alive, and Eric Dapple was dead.

  “Laura,” he said finally, putting his hands to her cheeks and turning her face gently toward his. “Are you all right? Can you understand me?”

  Dapple had punched her and cut her and possibly broken her nose, but the Laura that looked up at him from the battered face was the Laura he had always known. “How did you find me?” she whispered.

  “Don’t talk. Just nod. I gambled. I remembered this place. Can you stand? Can you walk? We have to get you to a doctor.”

  She came to her feet dizzily. There was only minor seepage on the bandage he had tied around her neck. She would be fine, she would, she would. “Is that him?” she asked, disregarding his prohibition.

  “Yes. Eric Dapple. He met Guy in prison. Put your arms around my neck, I’m going to carry you down.”

  She did not even protest as he lifted her off her feet. Her grip around his neck was surprisingly strong. He made his way with great care down the dark stairway, aided by the flickering candlelight from the room at the top of the steps. He braced her body with one knee when he reached out to unbar the front door, then carried her as fast as he could walk down the street to the car. He laid her tenderly on the front seat, and paused for a moment to gaze down at her. Her eyes were wide, serene, unfathomable on his.

  Even though it was a stupid question, he asked it again. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I knew you would come.”

  They had driven only a few miles, but at a very rapid pace, when Drake spotted another hombueno car coming down a side street. He pulled up, hailed the officer, and quickly explained what had happened.

  “Somebody fetch the body,” he finished up, easing his car forward again.

  The hombueno waved to him to stop. “What about the ermana?” he called after Drake.

  “I’ll take care of her!” the Moonchild replied, and accelerated without looking back.

  The usual lights were on, playing across the fountain and the gilded statues, but Drake did not bring his burden to the front porch. As he had feared, Laura had fainted on the drive over, and now he nearly ran as he carried her unconscious body down the melodic gravel walk. He used his booted foot to pound an urgent summons on the door. Jovieve opened it moments later.

  “Cowen—what in Ava’s name—” She was hurriedly tying the belt of a pink wrapper around her waist, and her hair fell in utter disarray around her face.

  Drake almost brushed past her, Laura’s limp arms trailing behind him. “I didn’t know where else to take her,” he said. “She’s hurt, but she’s alive, and I think you’re the only one who can heal her.”

  Jovieve stepped closer and smoothed the white-blond hair from the ravaged face. “Blessed be the name of the goddess,” she whispered. “Diadeloro.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Drake woke to bright sunlight and a suffocating sense of heat. He had slept way too late, then. Of course he had been awake till dawn giving evidence to the hombuenos, first at the house where Dapple lay dead and then back at the station. Lise had arrived in company with Benito, jaunty and efficient as ever. Drake was more glad to see her than he could say.

  It was too much to say that Benito was jubilant, but the capitan was definitely relieved and pleased. “Fine work, Drake,” Benito said when they were all drinking coffee back at the hombueno headquarters. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Drake grunted. “Took me too long,” he said. “Almost four weeks.”

  “Had taken us a few months and we hadn’t gotten anywhere.”

  “You did great, you big crab,” Lise interjected, addressing her fellow Moonchild. “Look at it this way. Since you arrived, nobody died.”

  He cut his eyes over at her, for he hadn’t considered it like that. “And,” she added, “three people were attacked. But none of them died. You did great.”

  Drake shrugged, since he couldn’t think of a response. He felt too stupid to continue talking. He looked at Lise in surprise when she came to her feet and put her sure hand around his elbow.

  “I’m taking you home,” she said. She reached her free hand out to Benito, who took it in a brief, strong clasp. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Lise had driven the car back to the hotel and helped him to his room. He was too tired even to protest when she began stripping off his blood-stained clothes, though she left him the modesty of his undergarments.

  “Sleep forever, sweetheart,” she said, kissing him on the cheek before turning off his light. He was asleep before she even closed the door behind her.

  Now it was daylight, and he had to begin thinking clearly again. Moonchild regulations were pretty strict; a Sayo was expected to report back to New Terra as quickly as possible upo
n completion of a mission, and this mission, by any official standards, was now over. Raeburn certainly wouldn’t encourage him to hang around and would notice if he did. But he couldn’t leave yet. He could find reasonable excuses to stay a little while longer.

  But if he didn’t leave soon, he would never leave; but he couldn’t even think about that.

  He dressed in casual clothes, to underscore the idea that he was a civilian, and drove directly to the Triumphante temple. Unsure of what he might find in Jovieve’s room, he rang the bell at the front entrance and waited for official admittance.

  Lusalma opened the door—flung it open, once she recognized him, and took him in a fervent embrace. It was not what he had expected, but he laughed and hugged her back and felt instantly much happier.

  “Oh, Lieutenant, thank you, thank you!” she cried when she had released him. Her dark eyes glowed and she actually clapped her hands. “You found that wicked man and you saved Diadeloro! We have all sung praises to Ava in your name today.”

  He was grinning broadly as he followed her into the sanctuary. “What do you know about Diadeloro?” he scoffed. “She was gone long before you ever joined the temple.”

  “Oh, but we always included her in our prayers,” Lusalma said, leading him down the lighted hallways toward Jovieve’s office. “And then you found her! And you saved her from that terrible man! Even Noches is happy that he is dead and Noches, you know, can never say an unkind thing about anyone—”

  “How is she?” he interrupted. “Deloro? How badly is she hurt?”

  Lusalma instantly looked grave. “We had the doctor here last night and again this morning.”

  Fear clutched at him. “And?”

  “Oh, he said she was much better today. He was afraid that the cuts on her neck, you know, would get infected, but today he didn’t think so. He says she needs a great deal of rest and quiet, but she will be just fine in a few days.” She turned to give him a sunny smile as she knocked on Jovieve’s door. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Wonderful,” he echoed just as Jovieve opened the door.

  Like Lusalma, la senya grande was delighted to see him. Her face broke into a smile of dizzying warmth, and she held out both hands to him. “Cowen,” she said. She placed her hands on his cheeks and stretched up to kiss him on the mouth. “How can I ever tell you how grateful and happy you have made me?”

  He was embarrassed and proud and relieved all at the same time. “She’s all right, then?” he said awkwardly.

  “Lusalma, querida, why don’t you go bring us some lemonade?” Jovieve said, not answering Drake. “Thanks, love.”

  Lusalma disappeared, and Drake followed Jovieve into her office. As always, the sunlight poured through the stained glass and gave the room a festive, gala air.

  “She isn’t all right?” he asked insistently.

  Jovieve turned to face him again, standing very close to him and touching him with one hand. “She’s fine physically,” she said. “She’s bruised and a little battered, of course, but the doctor tells us she’ll be well in a couple of days. But she’s very distressed in spirit. It is not easy to see a man killed before your eyes, particularly when that man has been trying to kill you.”

  “She’s lived through harder things,” he said.

  Jovieve nodded and sat on the couch, pulling Drake down beside her. “She told me about her brother last night, and Julio, and Guy,” the Triumphante said. “She cried in my arms like a little girl. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone so distraught.”

  Drake was silent a moment. He had seen Laura distraught, but not dissolved in tears. He had not known she could break down so far. “Can you help her?” he asked at last.

  “I think so,” Jovieve said. “With Ava’s assistance.”

  Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door. Lusalma came in, bearing a tray of lemonade and followed by a veritable parade of young Triumphantes. Drake recognized Noches but could not put names to all the others. They flocked around him, reaching out to pat his face and hair and shoulders, murmuring their thanks and calling Ava’s blessings down upon him. He felt like a huge shaggy dog suddenly mobbed by small children, and he sat there trying to return greetings and handshakes, feeling totally bemused and unexpectedly uplifted. Jovieve watched with a faint smile, occasionally putting out a hand to stroke the head of one of the girls closest to her.

  “That’s enough, children, the lieutenant appreciates your attention very much,” she finally said, snapping her fingers to restore order. “Come now. You all have chores to do. Thank you for the lemonade, Lus. You may all go.”

  Still murmuring, the girls filed out, and Lusalma shut the door. Jovieve laughed at Drake.

  “You’re nonplussed by hero worship, Lieutenant?” she asked as she handed him a glass. “The man who fearlessly faces down murderers is overwhelmed by the adoration of a few young women?”

  “I can’t recall that I’ve ever been in quite this position before,” he said. “Lusalma told me everyone sang my praises to Ava this morning.”

  “Oh, yes, I imagine your name will figure in our daily prayers for many years to come now.”

  “Years?” he repeated, choking on his lemonade.

  She kept a composed, majestic look on her face, but he was sure she was amused. “The Triumphantes do not quickly forget their benefactors,” she said loftily. Then her voice changed; the smile came. “Besides, you are a very attractive man. It is no hardship to be called upon to remember you.”

  “Please.”

  “And the girls are young,” she pursued. “They all suspect a romance.”

  That brought a painful smile to his own face. He shook his head and looked down at the floor between his feet. “Can I see her?” he asked quietly.

  “She was asking about you this morning.”

  He looked over at Jovieve in quick surprise. “She was? I thought—” He had thought that, being Laura, she would not want him to see her at anything less than her most invulnerable. Jovieve read the idea in his mind.

  “She is stronger than you think,” the priestess said softly. “Too strong to let you think she is too weak to see you.”

  He was on his feet. “Now?” he pleaded. “Can I see her now?”

  * * *

  * * *

  The room at the back of the temple was filled with sun, as befit a woman named Diadeloro. Someone had cut armloads of flowers from the sacred garden and filled the chamber with color as well as light. Laura sat in a chair before the window, dressed in a loose yellow wrapper. She had a book open on her lap, but her eyes were focused on some scene outside the window. She looked up when he entered but did not attempt to rise.

  They studied each other a moment in silence. Her face was pale where it was not black with bruises. Her throat and one cheek were covered with professional-looking bandages, and her hair had been braided back from her face, leaving it bare and exposed. But her eyes were as clear and unreadable as ever.

  “I knew you would come,” she said.

  He closed the door behind him and crossed the room to kneel at her feet. “That’s what you said last night,” he said.

  She smiled carefully, as if it hurt but she wanted to smile anyway. “It was true,” she said. “I never doubted you.”

  He gazed up at her, unable for the life of him to smile in response. “I have never been so afraid,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I would find you in time.”

  “But you did.”

  “Were you afraid?” he asked, his voice still husky. “Or did you care? Did it matter to you whether he killed you or not?”

  “Yes, I was afraid,” she said. “But I knew you would come. I knew it. It eased my fear.” She paused. “And I wanted you to come, Cowen. I didn’t want to die.”

  He could not help himself. He took both her hands in his and brought them to his mouth, kissing first one and then the other. She all
owed him to keep one hand but freed the other to lay it reassuringly against his cheek.

  “Cowen, it’s all right,” she murmured.

  He kept his head down; he could not look at her. “I have to leave for New Terra any day now,” he said into the palm of her hand. “But I don’t know if I can leave you.”

  “We all have to go where we belong,” she said.

  That made him look up. “Where do you belong?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I had finally come to understand what Ava wanted from me, but now . . . I am half Triumphante and half Fidele. I am neither one nor the other. I don’t know where I fit in.”

  “You could come with me,” he said.

  She did not seem shocked that he had made the suggestion, which surprised him a little. Her voice was sad when she replied. “And leave Ava? She is all that has kept me alive.”

  “Last night,” he said, “I was the one who did that.”

  She gazed steadily down at him, but the expression on her face gave him no hope. “She has loved me longer than you have,” she said, and her voice was very soft. “I cannot abandon her now.”

  “And I can’t abandon you,” he said.

  She shook her head again. “What is here for you on Semay except a broken and confused woman who doesn’t even remember how to love? You have given me my life, Cowen—there is nothing more that you can give me. Go back to New Terra, go back to the Moonchildren, go back to the way of life you know. I will find a way to go back to mine.”

  Bitterly he stared at her, and clumsily he came to his feet, dropping her hands as he rose. “Why did you even let me see you, then,” he asked, “if that was all you had to tell me?”